Fruitcake Rave I

posh |pä sh | informaladjectiveelegant or stylishly luxurious : a posh Munich hotel.• chiefly Brit. typical of or belonging to the upper class of society : she had a posh accent.
Warning- Do not read if you detest pointless, girly rambles, that leave your brain feeling like tapioca pudding and your IQ about 5 points lower.
After having left Estes Park, Colorado, we drove about 8 hours to Salt Lake City, Utah. And right now (Cue Fruitcake-ness) WE ARE STAYING IN THE POSHEST HOTEL EVER! True, I've seen better. Silver Legacy in Reno, and the Venetian in Las Vegas were Posh-er*, but this comes pretty close. Right across from the uber-posh Grand America is the posh Little America. Driving up to the valet parking, I didn't enter fruitcake mode yet, but my posh sensor started beeping when I saw a few elegantly dressed families exit the hotel**, I had a squeamish feeling that we were seriously underdressed. Hey, you don't exactly wear prom clothes for road trips. Unless you're like, filthy rich or something. But back to rambling. We entered the hotel lobby and I think I silently blew a gasket. Everything was like, marble and mahogany, and HUGE. True, the hugeness couldn't compare to the two aforementioned hotels, but it was still pretty neat. Big vases that looked like they could shatter if you looked at them in the wrong way, plump, velvety armchairs arranged in little circles that orbited the crackling fireplace, long marble check-in desks that stretched for forever and a day, tinkling crystal chandeliers that reminded one eerily of Phantom of the Opera...Oh, and the revolving doors. Revolving doors are epic. As are swirling staircases made of mahogany that are absolutely useless (elevator, anyone?) unless you want to make a grand entrance. Which I suppose, if everyone is dressed as poshly as the people I saw come out, may not be to out of this world.
Before I totally kill my brain cells (and whoever is reading this blog) , this is Quiet Girl, shutting up.
-Shhh... (insert girly squeal here) *Actually, the Venetian was so posh it made me sick. I mean, it was like, better than the house I lived in! **Via the elegant, posh, revolving doors that I absolutely adore now. Mom said that revolving doors are what kills people. Something about the mafia and shootings...I can't tell if she was teasing or not, but I believe she leaned towards the former.

Breath III

Alberta Falls-

There's something in the air, a dreamlike quality- time is fluid here. Maybe this is how they live, something we, in our attempt to catalogue time, to slow down, speed up, and transfix life, have missed. There's a sort of laziness in the summer air, and I meander through the woods, soaking in the Life with every step. I'm Miranda from The Tempest, glorying in this brave new world that has always been there. I'm discovering the world all over again.

The trail to Alberta Falls are full of song. Bridges cross over foaming brooks, and streams of melting snow ripple laughingly over the path. The big creeks pound against the rocks, foaming and frothing, running under our feet and then plunging over a hill. The wind roars through the tree tops, lending them voices and animation, it's almost as if they're whispering to each other, secrets which you can just barely make out. There are feet in the background, crackling through leaves and tapping on rocks. Maybe once or twice, we can make out the shape of the owners of those winking, fairy feet, but more often than not, they remain instruments in a symphony of life.

We walk over a bridge and into heaven. Young aspens bend and bow, creating a golden tunnel, speckled with dots of green light. The aspens laugh, their heart-shaped leaves slipping through the wind, and I slowly walk through, reveling silently. This is beauty- the white arms of the aspens on either side of the trail, creating a haven in time where it is sunshine forever, where the world is cast in shades of yellow and green, and even the boisterous creek is subdued and murmurs gently in the distance.

We humans left our mark there- humanity's foolishness, squabbles, ego and pride, preserved forever in lumpy, black scars on the aspen's soft white arms. Names, hearts, pictures, welling up in hard lumpy scars that bubble and crawl all over the aspen trunks. And this brings me back to reality, one blot marring the beauty and making this piece of heaven a part of earth.

I exit the aspen tunnel and walk a little more before encountering what I believe was the pallet of some long-gone artist. Rocks jut out slightly in cubic formations, and the cliffside is painted glorious shades of green, orange, yellow and salmon. The river thunders loudly, a few steep drops down, the water frothing and churning. And always moving, dancing swiftly and surely downstream. The foam curls a little- just a little, swirling like fine hair, or smoke in the air, then it shifts, changes and quickly disappears downstream. We're not there yet- I shift the backpack slightly and follow the others up.

Reality IVd

It's that time of the month again where you start wigging out about how much stuff you aquired* and family members suddenly turn against each other in the race for space. Yes, we've had a great vacation**, but the short 5 days spent in the Rockies have flown by faster than a hippo with a jet pack, and it's time to repack the Honda.

With a curious sense of deja vu and absolute heart-pounding, knee-knocking, scream-like-a-girl, appocalyptic dread, I approached the Honda CRV. Yes, read that again but add your own scary

sound effects. Somehow, we would have to completely repack the BVPing thing, a thought that made me feel slightly ill. Seriously, I'm still trying to recover from the horror with a nice piece of pizza. Although it will really take the Udon noodles to do the trick, right?

We stuffed. We sweated. We engaged in heated, passionate, screaming debates about how that couldn't go there because that was where my pillow was supposed to go***. You know how some people say you got to be alone to really discover yourself? Heck, go ahead and try to cram all you've got into the back trunk of your car, then you'll really see who you are****. Try to pack a U- box with your family, and I promise, you will bond (if you survive.) And you will never look at your sweet, dear old Dad the same way. Yep, U-box packing DEFINITELY reveals new aspects of certain personalities, things you never suspected could exist.

Finally, we managed to cram most of our stuff into the back of the car. And discovered many interesting facets of my personality. Including how I could somehow manage to squeeze my beanie pillow into a hole a little wider than my arm. Yow, now that requires some mad skillz*****. I've also developed the ruthless side of my personality, too. When it comes to packing, it's every man for himself. Spare no quarter, show no mercy. In a way, our cramming of the Honda exemplifies Darwin's law of Natural Selection. Only the fittest and the most conniving (as well as the most OCD ) will have his or her possessions passed on to the next dwelling. Survival of the fittest, domestic style!

This is Quiet Girl, signing off.

-Shhhh...you can still cram things into the car while everyone is sleeping....

*I still swear there is SOME law of science to explain how everything, neatly packed in my suitcase when I arrived at Estes Park can no longer fit in when I leave. It's fairies, it's got to be. Or, Ian. Yeah. When in doubt, blame the little brother.

**Yeah, the vacation I kinda didn't mention. At all. But I promise, when I have some time to gather my thoughts, I'll blog! I'll post! I'll write a SMCNP'n novel about the rockies!

***Or moaning, accompanied by dire predictions of inexorable doom, about how that would never fit, how the trunk couldn't possibly close, and how I told you so, we needed that space for the sleeping bag.

****Warning- this is not a nice, friendly, saintly side to your personality. CRV packing often reveals your worst possible personality this side of the universe. Side effects often include stress, slight headaches, dryness of mouth, depression, and neurological breakdowns. If you experience any of of these symptoms, good luck.

*****I know, I know, I spelled it wrong. But c'mon folks, I'm making an effort to relate to my brother. That is- im m8kng n effort 2 rel8 2 mi bro.

Reality III

Ahhh...

Finally getting a breather from the road! We unloaded our bags yesterday and will be staying in Estes Park, Colorado for around 4 more days. This is such a nice little town. It's not as bare and shabby as what I saw in Alamosa, it's small, but has character. 'Quaint', I guess. It reminds me a little of SanFransisco.

We're staying in a lovely little condo, right above a Starbucks (yeah, Dad was really happy), with a Japanese restaurant on one side and an antique store on the other. Right across is the library, and behind the stores is a brook/river/creek (what's the difference, anyways?)/Body of water moving rapidly downstream, so last night, we enjoyed Udon noodles* on the riverside.

Overall, the condo is very nice, the appliances modern**, but the room has a distinct smell of...something***. It's like coffee, or caramel, or chocolate, or toffee, or maybe chocolate coffee caramel toffee....the smell practically assaults you when you enter the room. Not surprising since we're right above Starbucks, but it's still pretty weird.

And that's about all worth mentioning-- Although can I emphasize the Udon noodles enough? And Japanese food? And California Rolls? And Thai food, and Korean food, and Chinese food? And Chocolate?

In my defense, it's close to my lunchtime! But we are so going to Japan next summer...

This is Quiet Girl...shutting up****

-Shhhh.......nom nom nom swallow.

*UDON NOODLES! I'm like, salivating right now. That meal totally cinched it for me- we are SO going to Japan next summer, even if I have to break a few bones to get my way. :) Nah, I wouldn't do it. But I've thought of it. Very seriously. Very, very seriously. Very, very, very...

**Especially the sink. I mean, the sink is like, epic. I've never seen a sink like it before. I asked Dad if he acknowledged the epicness of the sink, but he brushed it off with a comment about how the sink was made in China, so of course, it wasn't really that great. Of course, Mom loved it. Talk about patriotism...just kidding. :)

***Oh yeah, and whenever we step out, we're right across from a therapeutic massage place, so the smell just trips you up and SMACKS you in the face. It's really suffocating.

****Although that may require several bowls of Udon Noodles. Why AM I being so food centric? To those of you who may not know me so well, I'm not really that weird. Most of the time. But I suppose you should just gauge that for yourself, huh?

Breathe I

Right now we're in Alamosa, Colorado, and the temperature is a lovely 82 degrees. It's gorgeous here, I mean, we're staying in a tiny little place, kinda smaller than Edmond, but above the Wallmarts and Subways, the mountains stand out against the sky like paper cutouts. They're huge, majestic, and so raw. They accomplish something that the ornamental pear trees in Edmond could never do. These mountains make me feel like, I don't know, maybe I've come home again. They're not staged, or pathetic, like the trees planted in neat little rows, or the perfectly manicured lawns. They're not tamed Nature. When I look at them, I feel so in touch, so raw, so natural. There's something in the mountains, a bit of rebellion, perhaps, a feeling of eternal self. I'll never be able to tame a mountain, and no matter how high I build any city, I can never block out the Mountains. This is their land.

Switching randomness, yesterday we visited the Great Sand Dunes, National Monument. Talking about simply jaw-dropping, I'm now putting Great Sand Dunes up there on my list. I was writing a sarcastic letter to my friend about how boring it would be (I mean, Sand. Dunes. Sand Dunes. What can you possibly do?), but when I got there, it was just amazing.

Picture Coloradoness. Beautiful, blue, rocky mountains, grass, trees, hills, and then right in front of the mountains, this mass of sand! It's more random than a spontaneously combusting alpaca (thanks, N).

Wow. My mind just went blank and I stared. Then the five year old in me kicked in and I gravitated towards the sand. After we crossed Medano creek, I'm not sure what passed between us, but we started up the dunes and began climbing.

One thing that stuck to me during the climb were Dad's words: With every step, all our troubles were sinking away into the sand. It was just us, and the sand. Somewhere in our trail of footsteps, the journey to the top became a journey of self discovery. And as the wind whistled around me, I felt my thoughts stopping. Slowing down, atrophing. Every step was an effort, we couldn't rely on the ground anymore, it sunk beneath our very feet. And I stopped thinking. Just kept climbing. So when my mind finally shut up, my commentary zapped away, the problems, worries, and trivialities of my life seeped away, I found myself. I found a sea of nothingness. And it was quiet.

We didn't make it to the top, but I will someday. I left, with a promise to return, and two shoes full of sand. After the trudge, the struggle, and every drop of sweat, I felt I had earned every grain of sand that had slowly seeped into my shoes. And I made a new friend. Something I never realized was the constant noise in my brain. Talk, talk, talk, sarcastic comment, injured suspicion, even my ongoing commentary. But when I finally shut up, I found myself. It wasn't really like meeting a new friend, or reuniting. I kinda felt whole, I guess. like I was one piece again. Like I was myself.

Reality II

Despite all the stress of packing, my brother and I have found a way to make it even stressier*. I don't understand why the omnipotent Mum doesn't like it packing. Personally, I enjoy putting all my worldly possessions into small, cardboard boxes. Perhaps we shouldn't open them when we arrive at our new apartment**.

Back to my original topic sentence which I failed to address. It is still beyond our power to make packing (for Mum) more stressful***. But, being masters of imagination, we sure have blown it up into a feat of herculean strength in our mi

nds.

The box into which we have to fit our entire house:

Yeah. That scrawny little thing. And only one- not two. Dad's reasoning is, whatever doesn't fit into the first box had better be work the 1,000 something dollars the second box will cost. Is my favorite shirt worth that? Noo...

But I've slipped into sarcasm again. On a more positive, uplifting note, we won't have to spring clean. Furniture is getting rid of, clothes are being donated, and we're slimming down quite a bit.

Strangely enough, it's actually relaxing. Slimming down, that is. Thinking about the box is not. Our family held a mini freak-out session this morning****, and to settle it, we marked out a square with masking tape on the carpet. Dad is being awfully optimistic, but I'm going through my closet again and see what else I can donate.

-'Shup your face and start packing.

*Let's hear it for made up words! By the way, if anyone knows how to say, what I'm trying to say, while still using the word 'stress', and not cheating by saying 'more stressed' or being smart alek, feel free to yell it to the world. I'll be sure to use it in my next post.

**By the way, I wasn't being sarcastic- really!

***No cheating, like that, see? It has to be a derivative (is that the right word?) of 'stress'.

****Actually, we hold one every time we drive past the U-Box place. '" Is that it?" "It can't be!" "No, I'm sure they have two different sizes" "Don't worry about it, I think it can fit"....

Reality I

We will be moving away quite soon*. Through a blur of 'miss you's, 'keep in touch's, and 'what the H!@#? You can't do this to me!'s**, I hear the faint pop of reality. Compared to my first move, this one is considerably less painful. Maybe because I know*** what is in that strange cloud looming ahead****, or maybe because I'm growing up and ready for a change. Either way, there is a definite feeling of peace and resignation, and a bit of excitement too*****.

Promises to all my friends to write every week have been issued******, but most likely, I'll write about once a month or whenever huge, drastic, news hits. Like now. So, because I get envious whenever I see Mom, Dad, or Ian tinkering with their blogs, look for updates here, though I'll try to send them out as well. If you don't hear from me for some time, then DO shoot me an email. Several emails. In a offended, broken-hearted tone. Just to make sure I get back to you quickly. Most likely, I've either lost your email, lost my password, or have been drowned in the swamp of Too-Much-Homework.

I'm rambling. Even when I title something Reality I, it becomes a long, wordy ramble. Maybe that's how my mind works. Like I start out something and then move on to something else without ever finishing anything******. But that isn't that bad after all, right?

Before I ramble my way into all realms chocolate,

This is Quiet Girl******* signing off.

-Shh.....

*Reality strikes again!

**Actually, I haven't had that reaction yet. Not sure if I should be relieved, saddened, upset, offended, confused, perplexed...

***As much as anyone can know. I mean, like, I'm going into 'security' (like how a prison is secure. Yeah. Just kidding) not out of it.

**** Or above my head. I dunno, lately my life has been on a roller-coaster of horror-monal induced emotions. The current theme is 'Death, Doom, and Obscurity'.

*****Or I'm in denial.

******That, or I'm mentally biting my fingernails and trying to figure out how to break the news. Not a great time to be doing this, since we will be leaving very soon. Very, very soon.

*******You can tell where I've been by the notorious trail of half finished projects.

*******Hah! Quiet Girl= Oxymoron. Quiet Girl (aka me) = really bad joke.